Idul Fitri

So today is called Idul Fitri, when the fasting is over and the fun begins.

I asked my boss what he and his family will be doing today and nearly fell asleep during the answer.

So get this: their today will have started this morning in his home town at 6am, or more correctly ... 6AM!!??!!.

The family will go through a whole bunch of bending and praying and apologising. Before now I had only ever heard this combination of verbs used for describing an old trolls in gay saunas, the who came out of the closet in his late 50's.

By 8.30am he and his immediate family will have completed over 2 hours of praying.

Clearly this is "little f" fun.

Next up, they will retire to some room and apologise to each other for any wrongdoings over the past year. To an outsider it all sounds very tedious and boring ... while probably good for your soul ... much like meditation. Or volunteering.

Today in Jakarta all the stores are shut and alcohol sales are almost non-existent. It's like Good Friday. Or "No-Good Friday", as I prefer to call it. Even Jesus would have to accept admit it wasn't one of his better days.

Unfortunately, some of us still have to work and I arrived at a deserted office tower this morning. The emptiness was unexpected and eerie. Tumbleweeds wouldn't have been out of place, like stumbling upon a deserted funpark during a road trip to Kansas.

I climbed over a boom gate (commando style), had my bag loosely checked by a security guard, had my hand shaken by a second, smiling security guard and was eventually led into an empty building by someone in jeans. I caught the lift up to my floor and tried swiping my card to gain access to the office. Nothing. I could see my desk through the glass door.

I didn't know what to do. On one hand, I needed to work. On the other, I couldn't get to my desk. It was just like Sophie's choice, albeit with lower personal consequences (or maybe similar consequences ... I mean ... Sophie was certainly quick about it all).

I eventually took the lift back down and slinked away from the office tower in reverse ... although this time I shook everyone's hand as I departed before finding myself on an empty street, hoping for a cab.

I called my team and told them not to bother turning up and to work from their home or hotel.

The cab dropped me at the Shangri La hotel - where I knew there was free wifi, comfortable lounge seating and decent coffee for the very attractive price of $6/cup.

I spent most of the day thinking about Allah and alcohol. Not necessarily in that order.

When I'm With Her I'm Confused

Fasting is a very misleading word because it actually makes you go slower. A lot slower.

I don't know who invented the word but it was probably those same bastards who put an "s" in "lisp" and placed all those "t"s and "r"s in "stutterer". Lispers and stutterers can't tell you what's wrong with them.

Being hungry also makes you forget meetings, miss deadlines and run late for things. F

I've been doing my own fasting during this period. For example, at lunch time I eat my rice extra slowly, hidden creatively under things like chicken, or a fork. I hardly notice myself consuming it, to the point where I now think smugly to myself "Oh, I don't eat carbs any more." Praise Allah.

In August hunger is the most popular excuse for tardiness, knocking traffic and sick children off the top spots.

The fasting month finishes tomorrow. It be briefly replaced by food, fireworks and a few public holidays.

For the past week the office has been slowing down to a grind. It feels much like Chrismas, albeit a hungrier version. Imagine Christmas at an under-funded soup kitchen and you get idea.

People also are starting to look happier and more relaxed, which is quite a challenge in Indonesia because those boxes are ticked anyway. Gifts are being given. If people weren't so weak there would probably be light dancing.

Everyone except Maria. She came up to my desk earlier and asked if there was any work I needed her to do over the holidays, that she hated holidays. I asked her why.

Maria: "... because i have nothing to do at home ... so if you ask me to go to work ... to do something ... it will be very good ... please Mr Anthony"

-- "What do you mean?"

Maria: "Just that I have nothing to do at home. I rather stay in office.Aat home my mum will ask you to do things like cooking and other things. cleaning things and doing things. so if you just say I have to work then I will work. So is there anything you need?"

-- "No ... but anyway you should have a holiday?

Maria: "No because I have to do the helping. I would rather typing or create a meeting id."

The interesting thing about all this is that when Maria is here, there is scant evidence of such enthusiasm and industry. I do my own typing and create my own meeting id's.

I won't get a holiday this year but am looking forward to some huge differences for a few days. They say there wlil be enough space on the roads to play backgammon. That's what they say.

And tonight we can expect all manner of rabble-rousing. This afternoon Maria warned me to leave the office early, just in case. I received the following chat message:

Maria: "hi, just want to inform you that near 6pm the street going to be crazy"

-- "thanks for the warning. i'll leave later then. maybe about 7.30."

Maria: "well, it's going to be crazy around here till night"

-- "why?"

Maria: "they want to have "takbiran" in the center of jakarta. so the streeet will be full of persons and cars"

-- "what is takbiran?"

Maria: "takbiran means "praise the lord" so they will 'scream' said 'Allahuakbbar" along the street"

-- "i'll look forward to it."

Maria: "yes so i must leave now OK so i don't get trapped here"

-- "ok. i wouldn't want to be responsible for trapping you here. have a good holiday."

Maria: "yes but tell me if you need help ok?"

-- "yes yes ... but no. be nice to your mother."

Maria: "is you mocking me?"

-- "no. i'm serious. be nice to your mother."

Maria: "hahahaha. bye"

Considering that Maria didn't even want any holidays, she seemed pretty eager to get it started.

Here's the thing: the longer I spend with Maria, the more she makes sense. Hers is a very slow, creepy brand of Stockholm Syndrome. Maybe it comes from one of those Stockholm suburbs where the lazy Swedes live, like Malmo. Or Bondi.